


Ours Truly

by annabagnell



Series: On The House [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha John, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Male Lactation, Mpreg, Omega Sherlock, Omega Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 15:24:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3534455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabagnell/pseuds/annabagnell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There just wasn’t a good time to bring the conversation up again, or so it seemed. Sherlock was busy on cases, John was occupied at the clinic, they were happy and content where they were at any given moment, particularly when they were with one another. John thought it was probably best to wait quite some time before asking Sherlock again, and Sherlock didn’t know how to tell John he wanted to have his baby. </p>
<p>So he just did it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ours Truly

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Here is the third and final installment of the On The House series. It was commissioned by Nancy (for commission information, go to annabagnell.tumblr.com). 
> 
> I've enjoyed writing this series and it's my hope that you enjoy reading it as much as I've loved to write it.

Usually after a surrogacy, Sherlock felt lonely. After nine months carrying little lives inside him, the little lives were gone and sent home with their proper parents, and Sherlock was left with a swollen belly and aching breasts, filled with milk for babies that would never drink it. 

This time, Sherlock had John. John, who rubbed cream lotion into his aching breasts and researched ways to suppress milk production. John, who went to the store at 3:15 in the morning for vitamin B6 and three heads of cabbage, because he read that they might help ease some of Sherlock’s pain. And when Sherlock became engorged (because while these home remedies might have worked for someone with a milk supply for one baby, stoppering a supply for three was just too much), John helped Sherlock express just enough milk to relieve the pressure and then helped him into a shower, letting warm water course over his achy, still-swollen body in the hopes that it would ease some of the discomfort. 

It took a month for Sherlock’s milk to dry up, and when it did, Sherlock sank into the inevitable depression. 

“Hey, love. Time to wake up, I’ve got breakfast on.” John shook Sherlock’s shoulder gently, rubbing his upper arm. 

“I’m not hungry,” Sherlock said into the pillow, rolling over and wincing as his residually achy breasts were pressed into the mattress. 

Sherlock could almost hear John’s frown. “You’ve slept for almost 14 hours,” he murmured. “Even if you don’t eat, you still need to get up.” 

“I want to sleep.” 

“Sherlock...” 

“I know what’s going on, John, it’s depression, my prolactin has dropped and my body is trying to sort itself out. Let me sleep.” 

John sighed and sank onto the bed next to his partner. “Just because you know it’s depression doesn’t mean it’s okay to just sleep for days,” he said, running his fingers through Sherlock’s thick, red-brown hair. “Please get up? Let me help you shower. Then you can rest some more if you want.” 

Sherlock growled and lurched out of bed, keeping his blankets wrapped loosely around his body. He moved straight past John and into the bathroom, closing the door before John could follow. John waited outside the door, listening to the sounds of Sherlock turning on the shower and washing himself. Sinking to the floor, John waited for his partner to emerge, but after twenty minutes, there was still no sign of the Omega. 

John knocked gently on the door. “Sherlock?” There was no reply. He checked the doorknob - unlocked, so he pushed the door open and then heard the sounds of quiet, suppressed crying, just barely audible over the thrum of water against the walls. 

“Go away,” came a thick voice, and a little piece of John crumpled. 

“I don’t think so,” John sighed, stripping off his jumper and trousers and setting them on the shelf. He left his vest and pants on and climbed in, a wave of fog billowing out from behind the shower curtain as he opened it. “Christ, that’s scalding,” he said, reaching down to turn the cold water up just a bit. He carefully sidled up behind Sherlock, whose arms were crossed over his chest and whose shoulders were shaking with quiet sobs. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist, frowning when Sherlock flinched at his touch. “Sherlock, love...I’m so sorry.” 

“I hate feeling like this,” Sherlock snapped, but the edge in his tone was dulled by his sadness. “This happens every time, after every surrogacy, and I hate it. I hate it.” He was shaking in John’s arms. 

John pressed chaste kisses to Sherlock’s shoulders and the nape of his neck, holding him close and tight, safe in his arms. “I know. I know, it’s not any fun at all. All those months, and then...they’re gone. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s stupid,” Sherlock said quietly. “I know they’re not mine. I know I’m not going to keep them. I know that the whole time, and this still happens.” 

“Depression doesn’t really follow logical thought processes,” John sympathized, one hand sliding up Sherlock’s body to cover the Omega’s own hand. “It’s alright. I’m here, and I’ll help you. Trust me?” 

“Of course,” Sherlock replied without hesitation. 

“Good. We’ll get through this, Sherlock, I promise.” 

* * *

 

The next few weeks dragged on and turned into nothing more than an endless grey blur. There were post-pregnancy checkups and doctors recommending antidepressants, which Sherlock blearily refused. There were sleepless nights and sleep-filled days, showers where he held his empty belly and wished that for once it would be full of babies he’d get to keep. 

His breasts, their milk supply now dry, reduced in swelling until he was able to go without a bra for support. His belly followed suit, stretch marks thinning as his uterus involuted and went back to its non-swollen, dormant state. He could wear non-maternity clothes. He tried not to think about how big all ‘his’ babies would be by now. He started to eat again. 

Three months after the birth, he had a heat. It was a short, broken one, and though Sherlock’s body wanted nothing more than to be filled and taken, John would only hold him through the worst spells and give him slow, burning hand jobs to take the edge off. Sherlock couldn’t bring himself to thank John for his restraint, but he knew John knew he appreciated it. 

Things gradually went back to normal. “You know,” said John one day as they were getting dressed, “This is the first time I’ve really seen you when you’re not-“ 

Sherlock cut John off. “I know.” 

John’s voice was apologetic. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine. I look better this way, at any rate.” 

John frowned and walked over to where Sherlock was standing, buttoning his shirt and tucking it into his trousers. “You’re beautiful either way,” he murmured, looping one arm around his back and laying his hand on Sherlock’s hip. 

“I’m glad you think so,” Sherlock said, his voice slightly empty. He looked to the ground. “I don’t think I’ll be taking any more clients for some time. It’s just - the aftermath...” 

“I understand,” John replied, resting his head against Sherlock’s upper arm. “It’s okay. You made a lot of people happy, Sherlock. You’ve earned a break.” 

“I suppose I have,” Sherlock sighed. “Come on, then. You’ve been complaining our cupboards were bare for days, let’s go get groceries. We don’t have all day to sit around and do nothing,” he said, giving John a wan smile. 

“That we don’t,” John agreed, pecking Sherlock on the lips. Sherlock didn’t let his gaze linger on his flat middle as he finished tucking in his shirt, and definitely didn’t feel a pang of sadness when his trousers buttoned without resistance. 

* * *

 

John went back to work soon after Sherlock was pronounced back to full health. His heats were normal once again, coming regularly once every other month, just as they always did. During Sherlock’s third heat following the birth of the triplets, John asked Sherlock what he wanted to do - if he was ready to go through a heat with him properly for the first time. Sherlock said he was and went back on birth control, buying Alpha condoms and emergency contraceptive just to be safe. 

John cared for Sherlock in a way that Sherlock had never experienced before. Sherlock should have expected it, the preparation John would go through, the extra measures he’d take to make sure Sherlock was safe and healthy and that his heat was as pleasurable as it could be. John kept a cooler of chilled water beside the bed for the duration of Sherlock’s heat, making the insatiable Omega drink a bottle after every round to stay hydrated, and making small, easy meals during the longer breaks. Sherlock could hardly bear to sit long enough to eat, but John insisted, and somehow Sherlock made it through the heat without his regular exhaustion and dehydration. 

John never once gave into Sherlock’s out-of-mind begging to breed him and bond him, wearing a condom even when Sherlock’s Omega brain threw the box to the other side of the room, his subconscious desperate for a baby, as it always was. And when Sherlock was fucked raw and sore from too much penetration, John satisfied him in other ways, with fingers and his clever, clever mouth. When finally the fog of heat cleared, Sherlock was tired but not drop-dead exhausted, and sore but not bleeding. He laid in bed for a day, recovering, and John carefully rubbed salve on his scrapes and abrasions and brought him cups of tea. “You’re every bit as amazing as I knew you’d be,” he murmured once, setting a fresh cup next to Sherlock’s mobile on the bedside table. 

“You took care of me,” Sherlock replied, and though it wasn’t an ‘I love you’ or even a thanks, John knew what it meant. 

* * *

 

John didn’t really know how long it would be before Sherlock took on new clients, or if he’d take them at all. He was glad that Sherlock’s depression had faded, and that Sherlock seemed back to normal - not that John had ever known him when he wasn’t pregnant, so perhaps his given value for ‘normal’ was off. But Sherlock seemed happy, or at least content, and he was healthy, and he’d allowed John to share his heat, a privilege which John had not accepted lightly. It was hard, as it always was with Omegas during heat, to see Sherlock so out of his mind with instinct, begging John for a baby, presenting his long, lean neck for a bond bite that John had no prior consent to give. 

John didn’t know if Sherlock wanted to bond. He wasn’t even really sure what Sherlock wanted out of their relationship - they were partners when he was pregnant, but things seemed different now. More domestic, certainly - when Sherlock was carrying the triplets, there always seemed to be the expectation of care and assistance. Sherlock didn’t need that now, and even though John was more than happy to play the role of caretaker in their relationship, not many opportunities arose. They were just together, now, just living together and sharing a bed and occasionally arguing but mostly just spending time with each other. It was good. It _was_ good. It was comfortable. 

The one-year anniversary of the triplet’s birth came around. Sherlock received a card in the mail with a photo of the three of them, lined up next to one another, cake and frosting smeared across their faces and stuck to their little fingers. He pinned it to the fridge for awhile, but eventually, it disappeared. John wondered where to, and if Sherlock had a collection of photos like those. 

Then suddenly, Sherlock found a job. Not a nine to five like John had - of course, Sherlock could never do something so boring as that. No, he solved crimes. It started with one he’d found in the papers, and grew astronomically from there, taking private cases and Met cases alike. It kept him busy, and suddenly, it was if a raincloud had lifted. This is what Sherlock had _needed_ \- not domesticity, not to be idle, but to be occupied. John realised as he caught his breath in their staircase that Sherlock’s surrogacies had been what his cases were now - occupying. Maybe not in the same way, but it gave him something to _do._ John was happy, incandescently so. So was Sherlock. 

John asked Sherlock to bond with him. He popped the question unexpectedly, on a Tuesday night as they watched a rerun on television. “Will you bond with me?” he asked, looking down at Sherlock’s head, pillowed in his lap as John’s fingers ran through his hair. 

Sherlock turned to look up at him, bemused. “Where did this come from?” 

“Dunno. Been thinking about it. Will you?” 

“Of course,” Sherlock replied, as if it had been obvious. He looked at John for another few seconds and then rolled back over, attention back on the television. John started laughing and didn’t stop until Sherlock got sick of it and kissed him to shut him up. 

* * *

 

They bonded during Sherlock’s next heat, and John was delighted to be able to give into Sherlock’s demands at last. The ecstasy that sparked throughout his body as their bond took was euphoric. Laying there in the post-bonding glow, John felt connected to his new mate in a way he’d never felt before. 

The feeling persisted even as the heat ended. Sherlock felt it, too - little washes of contentment as they laid on the sofa at night, bright sparks of love and glows of adoration when they made love. Little spines of envy when Alphas flirted with him or when Omegas made eyes at John. It made them feel more whole, like a piece neither had known was missing had suddenly fallen into place. 

Now that Sherlock was working, too, it seemed to add an extra layer of domesticity to their bonded life. Some nights John wouldn’t see Sherlock until he tumbled into bed at some horrid hour of the morning, smelling of sweat and whatever desiccating body he’d been poring over. John would usually shove him back _out_ of bed and tell him to go take a shower. Sherlock sometimes complied, and sometimes dragged John along with him, even when the doctor half-heartedly protested that he had work in the morning. (He really didn’t mind.) 

Some nights, though, they’d both be off work and more than content to lay in vaguely human-shaped puddles around the flat. It wasn’t uncommon for one or both of them to fall asleep against the other on the sofa, the television droning on in the background and some sort of takeaway cooling on the table in front of them. Other nights still found them in bed, having lazy, non-heat sex, with long, lingering kisses and slow, drawn-out, absolutely earth-shattering orgasms. 

The heats were absolutely incredible, though. 

In John’s opinion, there were very few things more beautiful in the world than the sight of Sherlock, riding John eagerly, head tossed back and dark curls a frizzed-out halo glowing in the late-afternoon sunlight. 

In Sherlock’s opinion, there were very few things more pleasant than the fact that he had an excuse, even a biological one, to laze around in bed with John in between rounds, touching and talking about everything and nothing. 

“Do you want kids?” 

The question came out of nowhere - neither of them had spoken for several long minutes - and it certainly hadn’t been prefaced with anything. Thus, Sherlock was caught off guard and blurted his answer before he had a chance to properly consider the question. 

“Um.” 

A pause. “That wasn’t a very enthusiastic ‘um’.” 

“No.” 

“No?” 

“No, it wasn’t a very enthusiastic ‘um’. I was agreeing.” 

“Ah.” Another pause. “So do you?” 

“Agree? I just said I did-“ 

John sighed and shook his head, grinning. “No, Sherlock. Do you want kids?” 

Sherlock was about to say ‘um’ and stopped himself. “Maybe?” 

“Why or why not? Just curious, not an interrogation.” 

Sherlock shifted and flopped back on the bed. He suddenly couldn’t stop remembering how it felt to be pregnant, and how it felt to no longer be pregnant, aching and empty and full of milk for someone else’s babies - 

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay,” John said softly, interrupting Sherlock’s thoughts, and the Omega suddenly realised that his eyes were starting to gloss with tears and his lower lip was trembling. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, love.” 

“No, it’s - fine,” Sherlock replied, rolling his eyes and swiping at his left eye. “Um. I don’t know. About children. My - I - my body wants them, certainly, even more so after I’ve…after I’ve had so many children belonging to other people.” The breath he drew in was shaking, and Sherlock cursed himself. 

John made a sympathetic noise and slid close to Sherlock, wrapping his arms around his mate and peppering soft kisses to his cheeks, his temple, his lips. “God, I know, love. You were in a bad way, after the triplets. I’m sorry that happened.” 

“I didn’t think it would be that bad, when it did,” Sherlock whispered, rolling his lips over his teeth. “I wasn’t - I didn’t expect that. It had never been that bad, before. And I don’t know-“ 

But suddenly he did know. He did know why his body - and, if he admitted it, his mind - wanted a baby so badly after the triplets’ birth. 

He had John. 

But before he could say anything, John was shushing him quietly, calming Sherlock’s nerves and kissing his cheeks again and comforting him until the next wave of heat came and swallowed them whole. 

* * *

 

After that, there just wasn’t a good time to bring the conversation up again, or so it seemed. Sherlock was busy on cases, John was occupied at the clinic, they were happy and content where they were at any given moment, particularly when they were with one another. John thought it was probably best to wait quite some time before asking Sherlock again, and Sherlock didn’t know how to tell John he wanted to have his baby. 

So he just did it. 

Their next heat, Sherlock made no mention of birth control, which John barely noticed. It had become their habit to forgo using condoms, as Sherlock was so rigorous about his birth control and emergency contraceptives, so John didn’t make any comment when none were procured before Sherlock’s heat. And thus, Sherlock went about conceiving a baby - his own, this time. His and John’s. 

However, he realised, as he curled over the porcelain rim of their toilet two months later, perhaps he hadn’t thought his plan quite through. 

John appeared behind him with a damp cloth and a glass of water, clucking sympathetically. He knelt behind Sherlock and rubbed his back soothingly until the retching subsided. He handed Sherlock the cloth and waited for him to wipe his mouth before trading him for the glass of water, which which Sherlock eagerly rinsed his mouth. “Thanks.” 

John nodded and gave Sherlock a wry smile. When the Omega slumped back against the tub, one hand slung over his middle, John’s heart stopped briefly and his smile changed. “So. Pregnant again?” 

Sherlock looked up blearily, a little shocked. “Um. Yes.” 

John nodded. “Okay. Is it…” _A surrogate baby?_

Sherlock nodded back. “Yes.” _It’s yours._

John stood, holding out his hands for Sherlock to take. “Alright, then. Let’s get you into bed, you need your rest.” He couldn’t stop the pang of jealousy that stabbed through his heart. Sherlock hadn’t even told him he was going to surrogate again - but then, perhaps, it was his job. And he didn’t need to tell John everything. 

Sherlock followed John a little listlessly, unreasonably relieved that John had figured it out and that he didn’t have to break the awkward news that he’d conceived John’s baby without asking. And John wasn’t upset - actually, he didn’t seem very emotional at all - but maybe he just didn’t want to overwhelm Sherlock. 

And thus, both men went on living two different versions of the same story. 

* * *

 

“Do you want to come to my appointment?” Sherlock asked one morning over breakfast, in between shovelling forkfuls of eggs and toast into his mouth at something approaching warp speed. 

John nodded, shrugging his shoulders. He’d gone to a few of Sherlock’s checkups during his last surrogacy. “Yeah, sure. When’re you going in?” 

Sherlock swallowed his food before speaking. “Tomorrow, 2:30 p.m. It’ll be my ten-week scan.” 

Picking up his empty plate and glass, John rounded the table, depositing the dishes in the sink. He leant down and pecked Sherlock quickly on the cheek. “I’ll be there, I can take the afternoon off work. You showing yet?” he asked, glancing down at Sherlock’s stomach briefly. 

“Actually, a little bit, yes,” Sherlock replied, surprised John hadn’t noticed. “As many as I’ve had, I’m showing rather early even though it’s just one baby.” 

John’s eyebrow rose. “Just one?” 

“Well, I assume it’s just one. Twins don’t run in the family,” Sherlock reasoned, shrugging and taking another bite of eggs. “Besides, I can usually tell before I go in for an appointment.” 

“Alright, then. You’ll have an easier time of it, then, hopefully!” He smiled and kneaded Sherlock’s shoulders. “That last bunch really had you uncomfortable.” 

Sherlock sighed and nodded. “You’re telling me,” he drawled. “You didn’t even have to carry them and I think you were worn out, too. No, this one will be much more manageable.” He turned and gave John a smile, tugging him down for a kiss. 

John happily returned the affection, pulling away reluctantly after a minute or so. “Sorry, love, but I’ve got to get to work. Can’t get on the boss’s bad side, especially if I’m going to be taking leave to take care of you in a few months.” 

Sherlock only smiled. “Have a good day at work,” he murmured, giving John one last kiss before his mate dashed out the door, pulling on his coat. He looked down at his middle, where his growing belly was already starting to strain the buttons of his clothes. “See, little one. Your papa’s happy that you’re coming. Daddy wasn’t sure, but now he knows. You’re loved by both of us.” He rubbed his small bump gently, smiling absently before tucking back in to his meal. 

* * *

 

The exam room was just as Sherlock remembered it, and the Omega went through the now-routine preparations for his scan. A little thrill ran up his spine at the knowledge that at last, this baby was his, his and John’s, and he’d get to grow it and birth it and keep it when he was done. He gave John a wide smile as the doctor came in and turned on the ultrasound machine, and John gave Sherlock a tight smile in return. “Guess we’ll see if you’re right,” the Alpha teased, squeezing Sherlock’s hand. 

“Right about what?” the doctor asked absently, setting Sherlock’s chart aside and turning to look at the pair. 

“I told John that I’m only having one this time, and he’s not sure he believes me,” Sherlock replied, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. “I told him I could tell, after this many pregnancies, how many were in there. I’m certain it’s just one.” 

“Well, we’ll settle the bet here in a minute,” the doctor said with a smile. “Before I do the scan, though - you’re certain of your conception date?” 

“Absolutely,” Sherlock replied, glancing at John. He knew he’d conceived during their last heat together, ten weeks previously. He knew that some time in that four-day period, John’s baby had taken root in Sherlock’s womb. 

“Alright, then, we’ll make certain of that, too. Even if you are showing a bit more than I’d expect for ten weeks,” the doctor mused, grabbing the bottle of gel. “But that’s to be expected, to some extent, with as many children as you’ve had.” 

Sherlock nodded in agreement, squeezing John’s hand again as the doctor spread the blue gel across Sherlock’s middle. The machine’s screen was blank for the moment, but as soon as the wand was pressed to Sherlock’s bump, the screen lit up with whites and grays. 

“Ha,” Sherlock said triumphantly, pointing to the single, pulsing white spot on the screen. The doctor smiled and nodded her head, moving the wand to a better position. 

“You were right,” she confirmed, and Sherlock made another noise of satisfaction. “Just one in there, growing quite well. Just on schedule for ten weeks,” she noted, keeping the wand in place and flipping a switch. “And there’s the heartbeat,” she said, as a tinny whooshing noise sounded from the speakers. 

Sherlock turned to smile up at John, whose eyes were a bit glassy and far-away. “Hear that? Perfectly healthy, right on schedule,” he murmured, his thumb running over John’s knuckles. 

The Alpha looked down at him and nodded, a small smile spreading across his lips. “Yeah,” he replied. “That’s good. That’s - very good.” 

“I’ll print a few copies of this screen for you, gentlemen,” the doctor said quietly, clicking and sending the sonogram prints to the desk out front. 

“For the parents, or to keep?” John asked, looking down at Sherlock. 

Sherlock’s brow furrowed briefly. “Both,” he replied. 

* * *

 

Though John had never known Sherlock in the beginning of a pregnancy, it seemed to him that the Omega was much happier this time around. Maybe it was the fact that he was only carrying one baby - it had to be easier than twins or triplets - or maybe it was the fact that he was bonded, now, and had John around to take care of him. John, of course, was more than happy to make sure Sherlock was well-fed and content, and couldn’t help but be happy and enthusiastic about Sherlock’s growing belly. It made the Omega radiantly, incandescently happy, and of course John was still aroused by the sight of his mate’s pregnant belly, just as he had been before. The sight of Sherlock, glowing, maternal, and content was the most beautiful thing John could imagine. 

He still couldn’t help but wish that it was his baby, though, even more than he had last time around. He wanted to be able to join in Sherlock’s joy, properly, preparing for the arrival of his own son or daughter instead of someone else’s. He wanted Sherlock to be his entirely, mind _and_ body, not growing with someone else’s child. But John held those feelings back and took care of his mate as lovingly as he ever had, watching his belly grow and swell and holding back the emotions that built with every passing day. 

Neither man realised that they were labouring under delusions of their own, mistaken creation, and they wouldn’t find out until Sherlock started nesting. 

John couldn’t understand why Sherlock was bringing things home for the baby. It started off innocent, a bag of nappies and wipes, a few onesies and blankets - things that the baby would need to go home with its parents. But when Sherlock started bringing home bottles and toys, John had to speak up. 

He waited until they were headed to bed, both stripped down to pants and t-shirts as they climbed under the sheets. John took Sherlock’s hand and squeezed it gently as they settled in, and he drew in a deep breath. “Sherlock,” he began, “Is there a reason you’re bringing home baby supplies?” 

Sherlock let out a short laugh, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like I’m having a baby, or anything.” 

“No, obviously, you are, I just - I didn’t think it was your job to buy things for it.” 

“Would you rather buy things? I could use your input, I suppose, I never asked.” 

John huffed. “That’s not what I mean. Aren’t the parents supposed to buy those supplies? I understand the nappies and blankets, to send the baby home in, but toys and bottles? I mean, it’s kind of you, but that’s not your --“ 

Sherlock stopped John mid-sentence. “Of course it’s - hold on. John, I...my god.” His blood suddenly ran cold and he looked over at his mate, shocked. “I think we may have a very large misunderstanding on our hands.” 

John looked at Sherlock strangely, pushing himself up off the pillows to look at Sherlock. The Omega shoved back the blankets and sat up, his five-month belly resting in the vee of his crossed legs. “A misunderstanding? What sort of misunderstanding could we possibly have?” John asked, moving to match Sherlock’s stance. “Unless there’s something you didn’t tell me.” 

“I - I thought I told you,” Sherlock stammered, one hand coming to rest on the side of his bump. “But - Christ. Maybe you didn’t understand. Maybe I didn’t understand. John - this isn’t a surrogate baby.” 

John’s heart stopped. “What are you talking about? I asked you, and you said it was -“ 

“No, you - we never - oh, god.” Sherlock felt nearly ready to vomit. This explained _so much_ \- John’s lack of enthusiasm, his strange questions - “You thought I was having a surrogate. I’m not - when you asked me, that morning, I meant - This is _your_ baby, John. I’m having _your_ baby.” 

“You’re _what?_ ” 

“I’m so sorry, John, I honestly thought you knew, I thought we were on the same page, I - I conceived during my last heat, I thought you _knew_ \- oh _god,_ this whole time you - I don’t even know if you _want_ this now--“ 

The ice in John’s heart shattered and he lurched forward, wrapping strong arms around his Omega and pulling him close. The swell of Sherlock’s belly - of _their_ baby - pressed firmly against John’s own stomach, and he buried his nose in Sherlock’s neck, inhaling deeply. “How could I have been so stupid?” John asked, tears filling his eyes. “You daft man, of _course_ I want this. Of course I want a baby with you. I just had no idea that you...that we were...that this was _ours._ ” 

Sherlock pulled back, his eyes and nose red with tears. He pulled John’s hands down to rest on his bump, where their baby grew strong and healthy. “This is _yours,_ ” he said, his voice thick. “I’m yours. This baby is yours. Always, John.” 

John’s face was buried in Sherlock’s shoulder when he spoke again, long minutes later, curled up under warm, soft blankets, closer to Sherlock than he’d felt in months. “Mine.” 

* * *

 

John’s heart was pounding as they mounted the steps to the clinic. Though he’d been to three previous appointments, this would be the first since he found out the baby Sherlock carried was his. 

For Sherlock, the scans were now routine and the procedures predictable. After giving a urine sample and having his blood sugar measured, the now six-month Omega slid onto the exam table and rucked up his shirt, exposing a rolling, oblong belly. 

“Little one’s moving around quite a bit in there,” John observed, laying his hand on Sherlock’s belly without hesitation. The Omega smiled and shifted, pushing the waistband of his trousers down as John’s hand soothed the squirmy baby within his womb. “Calm down, little one, we don’t want to stretch Daddy out.” 

“Daddy’s not nearly so stretched with one baby as he was with three,” Sherlock reasoned, one long finger pushing back against an elbow that made his belly come to a point. “Baby can move around as much as they want, for now at least. I’ve got plenty of space.” He smiled as John kissed him chastely, pulling back as he heard the click of the door opening. 

“Your urine test came back fine, and blood sugar is normal. I’ve got a nurse bringing in the scanner in a minute, I’ll just do the preliminaries. Everything feeling okay?” the doctor asked, snapping on some gloves and rolling up to the exam table. 

“Just fine,” Sherlock replied, drawing in a deep breath as she started palpating his belly. “Lots of movement, but nothing out of the ordinary.” 

The doctor grinned as the baby elbowed her palm sharply. “A lively one you’ve got there, Mr. Holmes.” 

John piped up. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that it doesn’t like anything encroaching on its home. It gave Sherlock a right punishment when I made him a big dinner last week.” 

Sherlock groaned at the memory, smiling up at John. “I earned that. I shouldn’t have indulged so much when there’s someone else sharing my body.” John squeezed his hand and shook his head with a smile, his gaze shifting to the doctor’s examination. 

“The baby feels big,” the doctor noted, giving a few last shifts of her fingers and palms before writing a few sentences on Sherlock’s chart. “Generally that’s expected when a person has had multiple children. The uterus stretches more, it’s used to having an inhabitant - or, in your case, quite a few inhabitants. I don’t see any signs of gestational diabetes, so I think the size can probably be attributed to that factor.” 

A nurse rapped on the door and opened it, rolling the scanner in and plugging it into the wall before leaving them alone once more. “Alright. You know the drill, gentlemen - today we’re just checking for growth, and any abnormalities,” the doctor said. “You haven’t had any signs of problems in the past so I don’t expect anything to show up today.” 

“Can you play the heartbeat?” Sherlock asked, his eyes flickering up to look at John quickly. “John - and I both want to hear it again.” 

The doctor shrugged and nodded. “I can turn on the audio, but it might be a bit muffled now. There’s quite a bit more going on now than there was before, but you’ll still be able to hear it.” 

“That’s fine,” both men said simultaneously. John squeezed Sherlock’s hand, his palm slightly sweaty. 

As the machine warmed up, the doctor spread gel on Sherlock’s belly, smoothing it out with the wand and waiting for the screen to come to life. When it did, only the baby’s arms and chest were visible, blurry and grainy but distinct enough to tell what they were. “Okay. Heartbeat should be audible from here,” the doctor murmured, and turned on the audio. 

Louder this time than it had been before, the baby’s heartbeat thrummed through the machine’s speakers, fast but steady. “There it is,” Sherlock said unnecessarily, looking away from the screen to look at John. His Alpha’s eyes were glistening and though he was smiling, the corners of his mouth wavered dangerously. 

“Yeah,” he said thickly. “There it is.” Sherlock squeezed John’s hand tight and the Alpha did the same in return, tears finally falling down his cheeks as the sound of their baby’s heartbeat filled the room. 

* * *

 

“Hey, love,” John asked, muting the television and elbowing Sherlock gently. 

“Mm?” The Omega raised his eyebrows and blinked away the haze of near-sleep that he’d slipped into, leaning against John lazily. “What?” 

“Our anniversary is in three days, you know. I was thinking maybe we should do something.” 

“Mh. Three - three days?” Sherlock asked, pushing himself to sit up straight and rubbing his back slowly. The baby stretched too, Sherlock’s belly changing shape noticeably until it curled back up. He slid a hand over his middle absently. “I hadn’t realized.” 

“I know. We’ve been busy. I didn’t think we’d do anything very involved, you know, just dinner or something.” John’s hand joined Sherlock’s, steady and warm on his bump. 

“Dinner sounds fine. I won’t be able to eat much, but. It would be nice to do something romantic.” Sherlock smiled and took John’s hand, lacing their fingers together. 

“Yeah, it would be. I’ll make reservations somewhere, you don’t worry about a thing. Just find something nice to wear and I’ll take care of the rest.” 

Sherlock nodded and yawned, going limp against John again and dropping off to sleep within minutes. 

Their anniversary dinner was at a steakhouse twenty minutes’ walk away, and Sherlock insisted on walking instead of taking a cab. Dressed in a navy blue paternity button-down and a pair of dark elastic-waisted trousers and a suit coat to match, Sherlock looked almost edible, as far as John was concerned. “I could skip dinner and just eat you,” he murmured, sliding his hands beneath Sherlock’s jacket and cupping his belly as he kissed his mate. 

“Mm, you can do that afterward,” Sherlock replied, letting John’s kisses linger. 

“I’ll take you up on that promise.” John grinned and took Sherlock’s hand, giving him one last kiss before leading the way out of their flat. 

* * *

 

True to his word, Sherlock wasn’t able to finish his dinner, the baby now too big at 36 weeks to let him eat a full meal in one sitting. John carried the remains of Sherlock’s meal home, walking slowly and swinging their joined hands between them. “Happy anniversary,” he said for what had to be the dozenth time that evening, and Sherlock bumped shoulders with his mate. 

“Happy anniversary,” he replied, drawing in a short breath and letting it out. “Baby’s woken up,” he added, feeling a sharp jab to his ribs and reaching up to rub the spot gently. 

“Just wanted to wish Daddy and Papa a happy anniversary,” John cooed, releasing Sherlock’s hand so he could sling his arm around his waist. 

Sherlock hummed and smiled in agreement. “Hopefully it’ll quiet down so Papa can give Daddy his anniversary present,” he said with a grin, giving John a sidelong glance. “I don’t want an acrobatics routine while you’re between my legs.” 

John hissed for Sherlock to quiet down and rolled his eyes, unable to keep from chuckling. “We’re in public, you clot,” he said fondly. “Keep the dirty talk to a minimum until we’re back home.” 

“Oh, what’s the fun in that?” Sherlock sighed, mock-disappointed. 

Their walk home took closer to half an hour, with Sherlock asking to stop once and sitting on a bench to catch his breath. He was waddling very distinctly now, his gait slower and a bit clumsy at times. “It’s not as bad as it was with the triplets, but my goodness, this is going to be one big baby,” the Omega said, exhaling heavily. “You certainly filled me up.” 

John preened and flushed simultaneously, wishing (not for the first time) that Sherlock had conceded to taking a cab so he could satisfy his urge to grope and claim his mate on the ride home. “Yeah, you’re certainly big for 36 weeks,” he agreed, rubbing Sherlock’s back slowly. “Maybe the baby will come early? Give you a bit of a break.” 

“No, I doubt that,” Sherlock replied. “I have a feeling this one’s going to wait until they’re due, if not longer. Alright, I’m ready to keep going. Just needed a bit of a rest,” he grunted, struggling to stand and balancing himself on John when he did. He blew out a breath and smiled down at John, who was unabashedly ogling his belly from below. “Come on, you lech. Let’s go home. I can’t wait for my anniversary gift.” 

“More than happy to oblige.” John stood up and took Sherlock’s hand again, and led them home. 

* * *

 

“Happy anniversary,” came the grunted words from between Sherlock’s thighs. John took Sherlock’s prick in one hand and stroked it slowly, pulling a drawn-out moan from the needy Omega. 

“Mm, yes, god, please,” Sherlock moaned, clenching around John’s fingers. “I’m ready, mmmh-“ 

“I know. Okay. Deep breath, love,” John murmured, straightening up and moving carefully between Sherlock’s legs. He laid his hands over Sherlock’s belly, large and full and heavy with their child. Sherlock looked up at John with heavy-lidded eyes and drew in a breath, his belly and chest lifting with the inhalation. John nodded encouragingly and spread Sherlock’s thighs a little wider, positioning his cock at Sherlock’s entrance before pushing in slowly. 

Sherlock arched his back (or tried to, anyway) and bore down, drawing John in further and further until he was flush with Sherlock’s body, seated as far as he could go. The Omega let out a long groan of satisfaction at the feeling of fullness and let out the breath he’d been holding. “I’d forgotten how good this feels,” he breathed, and John chuckled in agreement. 

“Same here.” He slid his hands up Sherlock’s thighs, pausing on his wide, loose hips before coming to rest on his mate’s gravid middle. “You’re beautiful like this. You know how much I love you like this.” 

“I know. I like me like this, too,” Sherlock replied, cupping his bump lovingly. “And soon the baby will be here, and - and I’ll get to keep it this time.” 

John saw the tears glisten in Sherlock’s eyes and he nodded, smiling softly. “Yeah, you will. Our baby.” Bending down, John pressed a long kiss to Sherlock’s navel, sliding his hands down Sherlock’s sides before straightening back up. “Okay. Ready?” 

Sherlock sniffled and nodded. “Ready. Please.” 

John paused for a long moment and then started moving, slowly pulling out of Sherlock’s body before pushing back in. He could feel Sherlock’s body going lax around him, muscles relaxing to let John in the way both of them wanted so badly. “You’re tight,” John grunted, bracing himself on Sherlock’s hips as he established a rhythm. “And hot. God. I forget - every time.” 

“I forget how big you are,” Sherlock replied, a little shiver running up his spine. “And I’m - full. Of your baby. Which only makes me - mmh, tighter.” 

“Yeah,” John breathed encouragingly. “Yeah, you are. So big, aren’t you? All full of - my baby.” 

A grin spread across Sherlock’s face and the Omega spread his thighs wider, pulling John in deeper. “You like that,” he murmured. “Come on, John, give it to me. Just like you gave me your baby.” 

John shivered a little and picked up his pace, pushing into Sherlock’s body more insistently. “Yeah. God, you know I love you like this,” he repeated. “I can’t help but remember how - how big you were when, when I first saw you, and how big you were at - the end, last time, oh, god, you were so full.” 

Sherlock nodded and rubbed his hands over his belly, his skin sliding over the big mass within. “I was,” he rumbled. “So big. I could barely move, I was so pregnant. But now I’m - full with _your_ baby, John, all yours...” 

John made a strangled noise and pushed Sherlock’s legs up until they framed his belly, making him even rounder. “Look at you,” he grunted, his gaze traveling slowly up Sherlock’s body. Sherlock was the epitome of maternity - his cheeks were full and flushed, his hair thick and reddish-brown with the hormones coursing through his body. His breasts were coming in, full and pert, his areolas dark and fat around his nipples. And the biggest sign, the magnum opus of his expectant nature, his belly - heavy, round, full of their child as it grew big and strong. As John watched, the baby shifted, an elbow or knee pushing out and trailing down Sherlock’s side before it disappeared into the great orb of his belly once more. 

Sherlock followed the movement with his hand, watching John intently as he did. He didn’t miss the way John shuddered when the baby moved, his rhythm breaking just a little at the sight of it. “You gave me this baby,” Sherlock said lowly, his voice rumbling in a way that he knew travelled through his whole body. “You put this baby in me, made me this way.” 

“I did,” John gasped, “I did.” 

“Filled me up, made me heavy and slow,” Sherlock continued. 

“Yeah. Yeah.” 

“And you’d do it again, wouldn’t you?” 

“I would, I would!” 

“Can you come for me, John?” Sherlock asked, toying with his navel as John watched. 

“I can, Sherlock!” John’s hips slammed against Sherlock’s bottom as the Alpha pounded into his body, losing his rhythm for a few thrusts before he stopped, as deep as he could be in Sherlock’s body, and came. Drawing in heaving breaths, the Alpha shook as his cock pulsed inside his mate. “God. Christ.” 

“Yes, you can name as many deities as you’d like but I haven’t come yet,” Sherlock said drily, drawing John’s attention back to him. He squirmed a little bit and clenched around John’s prick as it jerked one last time. 

“Suppose it is your anniversary present,” John said with a weak grin, pulling out with a hiss. “What do you want?” 

“Your hand would be fine so long as you kiss me while you bring me off,” Sherlock replied, smiling when John crawled up the bed and kissed him slowly. “Mm, just like that,” the Omega murmured, taking John’s hand and laying it on his sweaty belly. 

John wrapped his fingers around Sherlock’s cock, gripping it loosely as he started to stroke. “Good?” he asked, nipping at Sherlock’s lower lip. 

“Good,” Sherlock replied, kissing John hungrily. Pleasure started building slowly, low in his belly, as John’s strokes picked up, and the Omega bucked a little into his mate’s grip, thwarted though he was by his bulky figure. “Mm. Can’t move. Baby has me pinned,” he grunted, rubbing his middle roughly with one hand as John kept stroking his cock. 

“Oh, I know, you poor thing. So big you can barely move, aren’t you?” John murmured, indulging his mate. “I’ll take care of you. Come on, love.” 

“Little more.” Sherlock let out a long groan and kept rubbing his middle, jerking when John started tweaking his nipples with his free hand. “Yesssss,” he hissed, his breath catching a few times before his orgasm rolled through his body, tensing and releasing as his cock spilled over John’s hand and painted the bottom of his belly. 

“That’s it,” John breathed, nipping at Sherlock’s lower lip and kissing him soundly as Sherlock’s orgasm started to subside. “God, you’re beautiful when you come.” He nuzzled Sherlock’s cheek and dropped one soft kiss to his bond mark, eventually letting go of Sherlock’s softening prick and laying it carefully across his mate’s thigh. His hand now free, he caressed Sherlock’s belly, firm and round with their growing baby. “You’re beautiful all the time,” he corrected himself, pecking Sherlock’s cheek with a kiss before pulling back and helping Sherlock roll onto his side. 

Sherlock hummed lazily and buried his face in the pillow, peering up at John through one eye with a wide, tired grin on his face. “Good anniversary,” he mumbled, drawing in a shallow breath and letting it out on a sigh. John made a noise of agreement and curled up in front of his mate, framing Sherlock’s belly with his body and rubbing it softly as they both nodded off. 

* * *

 

Sherlock sank carefully into the gliding chair John had just hauled into the nursery, letting out a sigh of contentment (and exhaustion) as he settled into it. Laying both hands over top of his belly and rubbing slowly, he looked around, surveying the room. It was freshly painted, a beautiful pastel green, with white wainscoting and a few framed photos of flowers and bumblebees on the walls (with Latin names in italics, under common names). “Suitable for a baby of any sex or gender,” Sherlock proclaimed, reaching for a stuffed bear that was resting on a stack of books next to him. 

John nodded from where he was leaning in the doorway, wiping a thin sheen of sweat from his forehead. “Yeah, I think so. Where did all this stuff come from? I don’t remember you having bought this much.” He gestured loosely to the as of yet unpacked boxes of books and toys and clothing, stacked next to the dresser. 

“I strongly suspect some of it came from Mycroft,” Sherlock replied drily. “Some of the books I ordered, but certainly not all. And I know I never ordered a purple elephant.” He nodded to the overlarge, plush toy that was sitting in the corner next to empty boxes. “Nevertheless, it should fill the room up quite nicely.” 

The baby squirmed a little and Sherlock’s eyes bulged briefly as tiny feet pressed firmly against his bladder. He flapped a hand and John came over immediately, hauling the Omega to his feet and biting back a giggle as Sherlock waddled urgently toward the tiny en-suite bathroom. “Any time would be a good time for that to stop,” Sherlock grumbled, his voice muffled by the door and slightly obscured by the sounds of clothes being quickly and unceremoniously shoved out of the way. 

“Yeah, I know,” John agreed solemnly, leaning against the doorframe. “Not long now, love. Two weeks at the most. I still think it’ll come early.” 

“It’s not going to come early,” Sherlock said with the air of someone long-suffering. “Need I remind you of my experience in this area? The baby is very happily staying right where it is for now, and for the foreseeable future.” The sound of a flush came through the door, followed by some shuffling and then a faucet being turned on. John quickly busied himself looking through one of the boxes next to the dresser - full of even more clothes. He turned as the door opened, Sherlock waddling back out with both hands in their customary place on the sides of his belly. “You can place your bets, but I’m nearly certain it will arrive on my due date or perhaps a day or two after.” 

John cocked his head in reluctant agreement and started unpacking the clothes, setting them in piles according to type on top of the dresser. “Yeah, alright. Come on, why don’t you help me with these? I know you want them sorted by colour or brand or something.” 

“Fabric,” Sherlock corrected, moving to stand beside John and picking through the rompers. He bumped his hip against John and placed a quick kiss at the nape of John’s neck, and John felt a little warmth blossom in his chest as he passed another romper to his mate. 

* * *

 

Early in the morning on his due date, Sherlock awoke to a feeling he was very familiar with. “Wake up,” he grumbled, poking John awake and struggling a bit to sit up in bed. The baby wasn’t moving or kicking, but it was starting to settle and drop, and even as he watched he could see the change. Feel it, too, really - the ache in his back, from strained muscles, slowly shifting down and another ache settling deep in the bowl of his pelvis. 

John wrinkled his face before forcing his eyes open, blinking a few times and waiting for his eyes to adjust. “Something wrong?” he asked, his voice rough. 

“Baby’s dropping,” Sherlock replied, wincing as a sharp needle of pain radiated through his back. “Getting very low. Ooh.” He blew out a breath and tugged off his shirt. “See. Much lower.” 

“Cor, yeah it is,” John breathed, crawling across the bed to sit cross-legged next to his mate. His hand slid over the bump, now oblong and taut in Sherlock’s lap. “Wow. With the triplets, it didn’t look like this -“ 

Sherlock shook his head. “No, I was so low with them that I could feel it more than see it. But. With just this one...” He drew in a deep breath and let it out, feeling his skin stretch in an entirely new way. “Very obvious. I’ll be even clumsier now than I was before,” he sighed. 

“You’re not clumsy,” John protested. “Well, I mean, unsteady, sure. But not clumsy. It’s not like you’re falling all over the place.” 

“Thankfully.” Sherlock ran his hands over the curve of his bump, feeling a gentle nudge from within. “Right. Back to sleep, now. It’ll be soon. We need rest.” 

John stifled a yawn and nodded. “Alright. Here, on your side, I want to spoon you.” Sherlock, sleepy and compliant, did as asked, humming happily when John snugged up behind him, one hand draped over his belly protectively. “Goodnight, love.” 

* * *

 

Sherlock spent most of his time in the nursery in the days following the baby’s downward shift, unpacking the few remaining boxes of books and toys and rocking slowly in the glider when he needed a rest. John brought him cups of tea periodically, having officially gone on paternity leave now, and sat in the window as Sherlock drank (decaf, ugh). “I think either tomorrow or the day after,” Sherlock sighed as he sat down his teacup, startling John out of his own thoughts. “It’s coming, but not today.” 

Feeling a thrill of nervousness, John sank into a crouch next to Sherlock and laid a gentle hand on his belly. “Tomorrow?” he repeated, and Sherlock nodded with a small smile. 

“Probably. Or the day after.” 

John let out a breath and smiled broadly at his mate. “Alright, then. Good that everything’s ready. We’re ready.” He patted Sherlock’s belly and stretched to give his mate a quick kiss, brushing a few curls back from his forehead. 

“We are.” Sherlock held his hands up and John took them, obligingly pulling his mate to his feet and steadying him carefully. “Lunch,” he pronounced. “I’d like soup and a sandwich, if you could.” 

“‘Course I can,” John replied, and led the way. 

* * *

 

When Sherlock didn’t want to get out of bed the next morning, John immediately knew what was happening. He pressed a soft kiss to Sherlock’s forehead and padded out of the room, returning a few minutes later with a cup of tea and a few chocolate biscuits - all the more he thought Sherlock could stomach without the threat of nausea. “Here you are, love. Can I help?” 

Sherlock nodded silently and moved to sit up, taking John’s proffered arm and hauling himself up with it. “My back,” he said roughly, taking the cup of tea and blowing on it slowly as John climbed onto the mattress and sat, cross-legged, behind him. John’s warm hands slid under his sleep shirt and started to rub in small circles, using his thumbs and knuckles to work out knots and tension. He felt a contraction start to build and stopped rubbing, slipping his arms around Sherlock’s waist and rocking back and forth slowly as it grew in strength, gripping Sherlock tight in its grasp. 

John felt more than heard Sherlock moaning through the spasm, one long, low noise rumbling in his chest. The Omega rocked with John, feeling the familiar pressure of a baby moving down. He let his hand rest on the apex of his middle for the duration of the contraction and rubbed tiny circles against his bump until the pain ebbed, leaving only a dull ache behind. 

Sherlock picked up his tea again and sipped it wordlessly, draining the cup within a few minutes. He set it aside when he was done and rolled back onto the bed, pushing John gently to lay down across from him. “I think I’ll skip breakfast today,” he said conversationally, and John couldn’t help but grin at Sherlock’s unworried demeanor. 

“Yeah, figured as much,” John replied, sliding forward and putting a hand on Sherlock’s hip and rubbing it gently. “I’ve had a bit of toast, might make something else later. How’re you feeling?” 

Sherlock huffed a sigh and rubbed his belly. “Fine, I suppose. This is no worse than it has been in the past, and I’ve only got the one this time ‘round, so it won’t take nearly as long. Shouldn’t be too difficult,” he reasoned. 

“Fair enough,” John agreed. “Plus, you know. This one’s ours, and all. So that’s nice.” He grinned teasingly. 

“Ours indeed.” Sherlock smiled, the lines of his face deepening as he smiled, a true, honest smile. “Ours indeed.” 

By lunchtime, Sherlock was up and walking around, his gait wide and more than a bit unsteady as he traced a path around the sitting room. John was in the kitchen, trying not to fret as he made a simple chicken soup with the hopes that Sherlock would be able to eat a little of it. Every time Sherlock passed him he looked up and watched his mate, feeling a warm sense of pride - Sherlock was delivering his baby, their baby, after all this time waiting. “You’re doing good, love,” he called, carefully cubing a chicken breast and tossing it in a skillet. 

“I’m doing well,” Sherlock corrected, waddling slowly past with hands on his back. The corner of his mouth pulled up in a smile at John’s low peal of laughter. “Honestly, you’ve been a native English speaker your whole life, but you wouldn’t know it from the way you speak.” 

“Cock,” John said fondly. “You’re a prick, you know that? Here’s me, making you lunch and trying to encourage you and you’re correcting my grammar.” 

“I could correct your chicken cutting technique as well, but I’m ‘staying in my lane,’ as they say.” He stopped just behind John’s chair and let out a grunt, his body contracting once more. “Timer,” he reminded, and John made an affirmative noise and hit the button on his phone, marking the lag between the end of the last contraction and the beginning of this one. 

“About six minutes between,” John said, resuming his inelegant cubing of the chicken breast. “Down from seven minutes last time. You’re getting closer.” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and rocked back and forth slowly, trying to dispel the ache in his pelvis. “Obviously I’m getting closer. At this point there’s not much stopping it.” 

John didn’t reply, just tossed the last few pieces of chicken in the skillet and giving the meat a quick stir. “Want me out there?” he asked. “I don’t have to watch this very closely.” 

Letting out a long breath as the contraction ended, Sherlock pushed himself back up to stand. “If you wanted to join me, I wouldn’t mind,” he said quietly, not yet resuming his path around the sitting room. 

John pursed his lips and left the chicken to brown, wiping his hands on a towel and heading out to wrap his arms around his mate from behind. “Hey there,” he murmured, kissing the damp nape of Sherlock’s neck. “You are doing really well, you know. I know you’re an old pro at this and all, but still. I’m proud of you.” 

Sherlock melted into John’s hold with a smile, feeling inexplicably relieved. “Walk with me,” he said, putting his hands over John’s and guiding them down to his waist, settling one hand on his hip and looping his own arm over John’s shoulders. Walking a bit more slowly than he had before, Sherlock led the way around the sitting room, concentrating on the warmth of John’s arms, the strong, solid body next to him. “I’ll ask you to check me soon, but I’ll wait until you’ve finished preparing lunch.” 

John laughed, resting his head on Sherlock’s shoulder briefly. “Not an altogether bad idea,” he chuckled. “I think you’ll know better than me when you’re ready, but I’ll help you.” Sherlock only made a noise of agreement in response, nodding silently as they walked together. 

Sherlock managed a short break for lunch, eating in John’s chair as the hard wooden seats of the kitchen chair and his own unforgiving modern chair were too uncomfortable at this stage of labour. Eating mostly to appease his mate, he made short work of the bowl of soup (mostly broth, as he didn’t want too much solids) before getting up again to walk. “It’s very, very low,” he grunted, leaning against the wall as a contraction rolled through his belly and back. “It’ll be here before supper. Come here, feel,” he hissed, flapping a hand until John came over and let Sherlock guide his hand to the lowest part of his belly. 

John could feel the baby’s shoulders and back, but not the head (“It’s already descended,” Sherlock explained). “A big bugger, isn’t it?” John asked, rubbing the taut, hard skin under his hand. Sherlock nodded and leaned into John’s touch, panting harshly until the contraction finally let up. 

Not long after, John’s gloved hand disappeared into Sherlock’s body, palpating carefully to get a feel of Sherlock’s cervix. “Wow,” the Alpha said, running his fingers along the softening muscle once more to be sure. “Yeah, you’re almost there. Nine centimeters, and I think I felt its head, actually. From the way you’ve been acting, I really didn’t think you were this far along,” he admitted, withdrawing his hand and tossing the soiled glove away. 

Sherlock drew in a deep breath and willed away the residual discomfort of the intrusion. “There’s not much point in complaining about the pain, I’ve learned. It’s there whether I want it or not, and shouting and wailing doesn’t make it go away.” 

“Of course you’d have a logical approach to childbirth,” John murmured fondly, running his hand up Sherlock’s bare, sweaty back. “Want to be in the bed, then? It won’t be more than another half hour or so before you’re ready to push.” 

Sherlock nodded and let John guide him back the hallway and settle him onto the mattress (long ago covered in protective sheeting, with supplies neatly organized on John’s side of the bed). He let out a sigh as he settled back against the pillows, stacked high to support his back and keep him upright. Once John had undressed him and draped a sheet over his naked body, Sherlock motioned for John to sit next to him. The Alpha obeyed, snaking an arm behind Sherlock’s shoulders and pulling the labouring Omega to rest against his chest. 

True to John’s estimation, only a short handful of contractions passed before the need to push came on. Sherlock waved away John’s offer to check his dilation, trusting his body’s instincts and bearing down hard. 

John held Sherlock’s hand and watched his mate intently, Sherlock’s face screwed up in concentration and pain as he strained. The Omega’s breathing was harsh but regular, and he gasped as the contraction ended, panting and trying to catch his breath. “Engaged,” he rasped, and John nodded encouragingly. 

“You can do it. You’ll have little one out in no time, with pushes like that.” He squeezed Sherlock’s hand. 

John watched as the shape of Sherlock’s belly changed with each push, going taut during contractions and gradually losing the distinctive fullness as the baby’s body moved down. Sherlock was gripping John’s hand tight with his right hand and using his left to grasp and pull his left leg up, using his body’s own tension to push against. The sheet had been tossed away and Sherlock was naked and exposed on the bed, sweat beading on his forehead and dripping onto his swollen chest as he strained to birth their baby. 

They both lost track of time as Sherlock pushed, the contractions coming almost without reprieve now. When Sherlock gasped out ‘crowning’ John took his place between Sherlock’s legs, wiping tears on his shirt sleeves as he ever so carefully stretched Sherlock’s skin around the emerging head of their child. Centimeter by centimeter the baby’s head came out, face-down with a head full of dirty blond hair. John checked for an umbilical cord and breathed a sigh of relief he hadn’t known he’d been holding when he found none. “Keep going, love, you’re so close. Shoulders now, you can do it.” 

Sherlock grunted loudly as he bore down, but the noise cut off as he channeled his energy fully into the push. John watched with pride and awe as his beautiful, strong mate pushed the baby’s shoulders out and then, without pause, delivered the rest of the body almost all at once, the newborn’s slick form sliding into John’s hands. 

Sherlock sagged back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling and breathing deeply. A smile split his face when he heard the baby’s first loud wail, filling the room with the noise. He heard John’s stifled sobs and carefully pushed himself up to look at his Alpha, who was trying to tie off and cut the umbilical cord through a rush of tears. “It’s a girl,” he gasped out, wiping his tears on his shirtsleeves and fumbling with the scissors as he severed their daughter’s umbilical cord. “You gave us a daughter, Sherlock, you beautiful man.” 

The Omega’s lips curved into a trembling smile and he held out his arms for their daughter. John laid her into Sherlock’s waiting hold with shaking hands and laughed wetly as he watched his mate meet their baby girl. Tears trailed down Sherlock’s face as the baby’s tiny arms waved about, as if telling her parents hello. “You’re here,” Sherlock breathed, cradling the infant tenderly and lovingly against his chest. “Oh, my baby girl, my little girl, you’re here. Hello, hello, little love, we’ve been waiting for you, you’ve no idea how much you’re loved.” Looking up at John with red eyes and tear-stained cheeks, Sherlock held their daughter, and John felt like he could burst with happiness. 

* * *

 

“I think Lillian is a pretty name,” John murmured. He was sitting next to Sherlock in their bed, his mate and baby having been cleaned and dressed and the sheets on the bed changed. “Or Marie.” 

“Marie is pretty,” Sherlock agreed. “I don’t like Lillian so much, it sounds too old for her. She’s brand-new.” He gazed down at the baby who was sleeping contentedly in his arms, swaddled in a receiving blanket with her blond hair sticking up in tufts on her head. “I actually rather like Calla, if you’re not opposed to flower names. They’re a beautiful strain of lilies, and I’ve always liked the name. Calla.” 

“Calla,” John repeated, looking at the newborn in Sherlock’s arms. “I like that, too. Calla Marie? Is that okay?” 

Sherlock ran his fingers over the baby’s pursed lips and smiled when she opened her mouth slightly. “Calla Marie,” he murmured. “I like it. What say you, Calla? You can change it if you don’t like it, when you’re older, I suppose,” he chuckled. 

“Would you look at that,” John breathed suddenly, his breath caught in his throat as the baby’s eyes opened for the first time. A flecked, steely blue, Calla’s eyes were almost exactly the same shape and colour as Sherlock’s, and John found himself subtly wiping away tears. “I think she did that just to tell us she approves of the name,” he said thickly, reaching down with a trembling hand to run his fingers over her downy hair. 

Sherlock watched, enraptured, as the baby’s eyes blinked a few times and then seemed to stare directly into his own. “In that case,” he said quietly, gazing back, “Welcome to the world, Calla Marie Watson-Holmes.” 

 


End file.
